Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Because the doctor was smart…and a good friend. Amka pulled the seatbelt across her chest. “I have an idea.”
“What’s that?” May started the truck. The engine caught on the second try, coughing once before settling into a steady idle. They pulled out onto the road with nothing but the small town and dark trees behind them.
“Let’s go by Jarod’s house,” Amka said. “He’s still in Anchorage. Maybe we can find his laptop.”
May glanced over. “You think?”
“I don’t know, but I have to do something.”
May drove carefully. “This is probably a bad idea, but I'm totally on board with you. I have your back.”
“I know,” Amka murmured, then hiccupped. “I appreciate it.”
May’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, the dash lights giving her skin a blue glow. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” May kept driving, the headlights cutting through dark that didn’t seem to end. They moved outside of town, away from the river and to the Willows, a string of run-down duplexes that looked like they were losing a long fight with the land. Half of the roofs sagged. Some windows were boarded. Gutters hung down in sad curls. One of the buildings had an actual tarp nailed across part of the siding.
Amka winced. “I hadn’t realized how bad it was out here.” Some of the tourists had no choice but to rent this far out. Knife’s Edge really did need a new motel.
“How long has Jarod lived out here?” May asked.
“I think since the motel burned down.”
They pulled up to one unit on the far edge of the lot. Grass grew wild along the curb, half-dead and patchy. A grocery cart lay tipped over near the front step. Amka got out. The quiet pressed in from all sides, thick and solid, but at least it wasn’t raining.
No porch light. No signs of life.
The front door was flaking paint and patched with cardboard near the bottom. Amka tried the knob. Locked.
“You don’t have a key?”
The knob felt jagged in Amka’s hand. “Why would I have a key?”
“Good point,” May said. “But you know, you are engaged.”
Amka looked around. “Do you see a rock or anything? Maybe he has a key hidden.”
They searched the front area. The lawn was more dirt than grass, with scorched patches near the walkway. Some cracked flowerpots sat empty. No key. Just trash and silence.
“Nothing,” May muttered. “Let’s go round back.”
Amka nodded.
They crept around the side, brushing past a collapsed fence. The backyard was worse with old cans, a broken bike frame, and something that might’ve once been a grill. They reached a sliding glass door to find it locked.
A window caught Amka’s eye that appeared half open with its screen missing. She moved toward it. “In here.” Levering up on the sill, she pushed herself through, rolled, and hit the floor hard. “Ouch.” Pain clicked through her from her still healing injuries. The blinds clattered above her in protest. She reached up and yanked them back.
“You okay?” May whispered from outside, her eyes wide.
“Yeah.” Amka helped May inside. The room tilted a little, or maybe that was just too much tequila.
They stood in a bedroom. She looked at bare walls, a new mattress on a low frame, and piles of laundry tossed across the floor. One dresser stood in the corner, missing a drawer and listing to the side like it had arthritis.
“This place sucks,” May said, looking around. “It stinks too.”
“Okay. Let’s start searching.”
May grabbed her arm. “Wait. Let’s make sure no one’s here.”
Amka moved slowly into the main room. A threadbare sofa sat under a window crusted with grime. Springs poked through one arm, the cushions collapsed in the center like it had been slept on more than sat in. An old box TV sat crooked on a warped stand, screen dusty, the kind that needed a slap to work. Beside it stood a bookshelf that was completely empty. Nothing sat on it but a cracked mug and a plastic comb.
“I think most of his stuff must have burned down in the fire,” she said. “He hasn’t collected anything else. Maybe he really is squirreling his money away to do something with it.”
The kitchen wasn’t much more than a corner. Dirty dishes were stacked high in the sink, most chipped. The counters were old laminate with the pattern worn off in patches. One cupboard was missing doors entirely, revealing a mess of mismatched mugs and canned beans. Two sad wooden chairs skirted an equally rundown table. Amka wrinkled her nose from the mildew and old food smell. No wonder Jarod wanted to move in with her. “I think he should burn this place down.”
“Yeah, with him in it,” May said grimly.
Amka giggled and then slapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry.”
May turned and looked at her. “I’m just realizing that I should’ve been the voice of reason, considering you drank all night.”